


beat the devil and carry a rail

by sardonicynic



Category: 3:10 to Yuma (2007)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sardonicynic/pseuds/sardonicynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wade shakes hands with comeuppance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beat the devil and carry a rail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flugantamuso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/gifts).



> Set post-canon, so spoilers for the entire film. Warnings for language and character death. Title borrowed from Noam Pikelny's album of the same name.

He boards the 3:10 to Yuma out of honor and respect, but Ben Wade doesn't stay on the train for long.

When he escapes, Dan Evans's body is barely gray and cold in the dirt beside the platform in Contention.

Ben nearly bites clean through his tongue when he hits the rocky ground. He tucks and rolls, desert scrub clawing at his clothes and skin, grit worming into his closed eyes.

As he gets to his feet, his horse is waiting.

(Of course. He's a damn fine equine; Ben broke and trained him right.)

Favoring his left shoulder, Ben leaps into the saddle. Against what's probably his better judgment, he rides east.

And then southeast, toward Bisbee.

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

He makes for the Evans ranch the day after the funeral — two days after Mr. Butterfield and his Southern Pacific ilk have come to call, bearing water rights and a satchel full of the money promised to Dan's family.

As he approaches the house, Ben feels awfully ill-prepared, especially for a man who lives and survives according to meticulous planning and rigorous attention to detail.

He steps onto the porch, trail dust clouding around his boots, and removes his hat before he knocks.

He doesn’t expect Alice Evans to greet him with a rifle.

Maybe he should've anticipated this.

And yet his expression doesn't change. His hat remains at his side, and he doesn't dare go for the Hand of God.

"Hello, Alice."

"Mr. Wade."

"I came by to — "

"I don't particularly care what you came here for," she says, sharp and hollow, like a rotten cactus. "I only want to see you riding off my property."

"Alice — "

The barrel never wavers, but something shifts in Alice's green eyes, a flickering storm-shadow over an angry sea.

Ben doesn't get a chance to draw his Colt.

 

 

\- - - - - - - -

 

 

If Hell is a saloon, Ben thinks he could spend some quality time here before getting sprung.

The place is dim, smelling of alcohol, stale tobacco smoke, and old velvet.

He approaches the deserted bar, eyeballing the unoccupied space behind it. A faint gleam reflects and refracts off the surfaces of the empty shelves, partially lit from some unseen ambient source.

"Guess I can't complain about the service if there _is_ no service," he says to himself, his voice resonating within the corpse-like stillness of the room.

He's half-expecting a show of fire and brimstone as he places a palm on the weathered counter. Two shot glasses of whiskey appear, instead.

He cocks an eyebrow, and curls a hand around one glass.

"I reckon that other's for me."

Ben looks over, and one corner of his mouth ticks upward.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says. "Although — well, I guess I _am_ , ain't I, bein' here in the first place? And you, too."

"And me, too," Dan echoes, deadpan. "Wouldn't expect you to be in such a fine mood, post-mortem."

Ben lifts one shoulder, a partial shrug, and gestures to their surroundings.

"'Behold, I show you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed,'" he says. "That's First Corinthians 15:51."

Dan picks up his shot glass, appearing to consider it.

"I won't pretend to know your mind, Wade, but I will say that you are one adaptive bastard."

"Now, there's no need to bring my lineage into this," Ben says, his voice light. " _And_ , that's not entirely true."

"How so?"

"I didn't keep Alice from pullin' that trigger."

Dan doesn't smile, but the _idea_ of bemusement is there, in the slant of his mouth and the look in his dark eyes.

He clinks his shot against Ben's.

Ben chuckles, accepting the surreal nature of all of this in one slow swallow. The amber liquid doesn't burn on the way down, and Ben wonders if that's considered divine comedy or tragic irony, here.

He rolls the smooth, cool glass between his thumb and forefinger.

"I can see you're real broke up about this turn of events."

"Truth be told, I don't think I'm anything," Dan says, as mild as if they're discussing the weather on a cloudless spring day.

"Maybe not yet, Dan." Ben smiles, wry and knowing. "But with me for company, I'm sure you'll be somethin' else soon enough."

"That'd depend on your definition of 'soon.' How do you mark time somewhere clocks don't matter?"

Ben settles onto a stool, just as a fresh round appears for each of them.

“I suppose we'll find out, won't we?"


End file.
